Oris Erhuero Interview Part 1: The Lost Passport

Cape Town, the mid-1990s. A young model races to the airport, desperate to catch his flight back to Milan. Fashion Week is waiting. At the gate, he reaches for his passport. It is gone. Three days later, the phone rings.

Some stories are too big for one article. Oris Erhuero’s is one of them.

This is a story about dreams, about the people who believe in you before you believe in yourself, and about never giving up on the life you see in your mind.

It is also a story about the magic of the cigar. Cigars are more than a passion and a community. They erase borders, show the true value of a person and create a bond between people whose paths would otherwise never have crossed.

This interview is a glimpse through the window into a much larger journey, one that Oris is now telling in full in his forthcoming memoir.

This is Part 1 of 3.

Table of Contents

Where it all began

You were born in London and moved to Nigeria with your father when you were five. What do you carry with you from those years?

Those childhood years were bittersweet. There was love, hardship and confusion, but my uncle, his wife and my grandmother gave me the belief that I could become somebody, regardless of my circumstances. I was reunited with my family many years later, and the child my mother was carrying when I left for Nigeria was number six of seven children.

Life in Nigeria and life in the West are completely different. Is there something we should see and appreciate more than we do today?

Growing up between Nigeria and the West also taught me to appreciate different things: family, community and responsibility, as well as the opportunities and protections we can sometimes take for granted. Neither world is perfect, but comfort should never make us forget gratitude or our responsibility to one another.

His uncle, his wife and his grandmother gave him the belief that he could become somebody. That is a mentality I feel we lack in today’s society, where we are often shaped to just about get by. Believing in a child costs nothing, but it can change the direction of a whole life. When a pattern has been installed in a person, it becomes part of who you are, and it is hard to break free from it when you are older. This is exactly one of the most important things I feel many people in our society lack, and would benefit from. “Gave me the belief that I could become somebody, regardless of my circumstances.” Your circumstances do not shape you. Your ability to believe in yourself does. If we are completely honest, some of the most successful people we see in the world today come from the worst of the worst circumstances. It is the mental drive that takes you to your goals.

A waiter who only wanted a café

How did you get into modelling? Did someone discover you, or did you find your own way in?

My entry into that world was completely unreal. In 1993, I was in Miami, recovering from a near-death experience in New York that had completely changed my perspective on life. When you almost die and come back from the dead, your ambitions become very grounded. Miami was recovering from Hurricane Andrew and transforming into a major fashion capital, but all I wanted was peace. I took a job at a restaurant,starting as a dishwasher before being promoted to a waiter making $300 to $500 a night. My grand dream at that moment was just to save up, open a simple café, and live a quiet life under the sun.

Then, fate stepped in. I was serving a table when a Colombian high-fashion photographer named Azabra looked at me through the natural lens of life and said, “Wait a minute… you have the look of a model, maybe even an actor.” I literally laughed at him. But he was serious. He asked for my next day off, took some test shots, and without me even knowing the scale of what he was doing, he sent them to top agencies in Milan, Paris, and London.

Suddenly, the world exploded. Agencies were demanding I fly out. Within two years, I went from holding a waiter’s tray to walking international runways and shooting global commercials. It was on one of those commercial shoots in Cape Town, South Africa, that I auditioned for and landed a starring role in the hit international TV series, The Adventures of Sinbad. Standing in front of the camera for those first test shots with Azabra felt surreal,I was a guy who just wanted a café, and suddenly I was being shown to the world. Go figure.

A photographer looked at a waiter and saw something the waiter could not see himself. Sometimes the person who changes your life is a stranger at a table. What I really have to lift here is this. Sometimes we need someone to believe in us and show us the way, even as adults, toward things we do not believe are possible ourselves. In Part 2 comes another proof of that, when Oris’s best man did not believe in himself, but Oris and his wife Torunn showed him his talent. Sometimes we need others to help us see what we cannot see ourselves. It is also important to point out that when someone sees what you do not see, they want the best for you and they want to help. That is not luck. That is real friendship.

“I was a guy who just wanted a café, and suddenly I was being shown to the world.”

London, Paris, New York and Milan. What was that world really like from the inside, and what did it teach you about yourself?

From the inside, that world was a complete jungle. It was money, power, and everything the world desires, moving at a relentless pace. To me, it was poetry in motion,the good, the bad, the ugly, and the absolute craziest excess you could imagine. In the exact same frame, you would watch people fly incredibly high and others crash into rock bottom.

But I didn’t let the madness swallow me. I saw it purely as an opportunity. I worked the system and took the absolute best from it, and that was only because my head was already screwed on straight. People forget that before the runways, I was a 16-year-old runaway kid who left London for New York thinking I knew everything. I grew up in the raw, early world of breakdancing and hip-hop. By default, I accidentally fell into the music scene so deeply that my voice actually ended up being used by one of the biggest rap groups on the planet, Public Enemy, on their track “She Watch Channel Zero?!” Keeping that kind of heavy, grounded company as a teenager prepared me for the world.

So when London, Paris, and Milan came calling, I looked at it all through a lens of history, appreciation, and learning. I reaped the benefits, landed the major fashion campaigns, and graced the magazine covers, but I never let a single bit of it go to my head. I never pretended I was bigger than life. The industry taught me that I was smart enough to navigate the jungle, strong enough to resist the traps, and wise enough to know that all the glitz and glamour is completely fleeting and temporary.

What was life like for you in London as a teenager, and how did you end up in New York?

London was raw, creative and full of energy. Breakdancing, hip-hop and friendship were a huge part of finding my place. I left home around 1986 and later made my way to New York. My near-death experience there was in 1993. It changed my perspective, and I eventually found myself rebuilding in Miami, washing dishes and waiting tables, dreaming of a little café rather than a career in front of the camera.

Oris’s near-death experience is something I strongly feel is worth hearing. It proves more than how it can change a person’s perspective. It also shows what unconditional friendship is. If you want to know more about that story, keep your eyes open for his memoir.

From the runway to the screen

When did you know you wanted to act?

The strangest thing is that the seeds were planted way back during my school days in England in the 1980s. I took drama and I was naturally good at it, without even realizing I was good at it, if that makes sense. I pulled top scores in the subject. In the British school system back then, drama wasn’t taught with the modern mentality of, “I’m studying this to become a superstar like Richard Burton or Peter O’Toole.” It was taught as a tool for character-building and discipline,it is deeply woven into the fabric of the British establishment. After all, the UK is the land of Shakespeare; excellence in performance is just in the air. I loved it so much that I would actively skip my other classes just to make sure I was in drama class.

But when I left school, I completely walked away from it. Even though people told me I had a gift and should pursue it, I didn’t take it seriously. I thought breakdancing and music were going to be my destiny, so I chased that world instead.

It wasn’t until years later in Miami, in between photo shoots, that the photographer Azabra looked at me and predicted everything. He told me, “You are going to have a massive encounter with acting through modeling. Don’t run away from it, because the acting bug is going to catch you.” He was right. Throughout my modeling career in Milan, Paris, and London, photographers and directors on high-end commercial sets kept repeating the exact same thing. I still brushed it off, until 1995 in Cape Town, South Africa. I was in town shooting a commercial when a local casting director I often worked with put me in front of some producers from Los Angeles. They were scouting locations and desperately trying to cast a specific role someone with a powerful physical build who could also do martial arts. She brought me into the room, I fit the bill perfectly, and the rest was history. Destiny had finally caught up with me.

Three days, one phone call

The Adventures of Sinbad became your big breakthrough. What do you remember most from that time?

What I remember most is a literal twist of fate that changed the entire trajectory of my life. At the time, I was called into a casting office in South Africa, but honestly, my mind wasn’t even on acting. I was deep in the peak 1990s modeling era,this was a time before actors, basketball players, or footballers took over major fashion campaigns. Unknown male faces ruled the industry. Top female models wouldn’t get out of bed for less than $6,000 a day, and we men were pulling in anywhere from $1,500 to $2,500 a day. Between major shoots in places like Brazil, we’d get paid just to travel around Europe and sit in the VIP sections of elite clubs. All we had to do back then was hit the gym, look sharp, and sleep well. It was a wild, different era before social media.

I was making great money and saving it, so when this wonderful South African casting director approached me, my attitude was a bit indifferent. I was already booked for the upcoming Paris and Milan Men’s Fashion Weeks, and my agents needed me back for fittings. But she sat me down and dropped a reality check that stopped me dead in my tracks. She looked at me and asked, “How long will that modeling world last? Wouldn’t you rather be that guy who can act until he’s old and grey, and be respected for his craft?”

That hit me hard. I did the audition, and they told me they’d get back to me in a week and not to leave town. Knowing me at the time, I ignored the warning and headed straight to the airport anyway, desperate to catch my flight back to Milan. But when I reached the gate, my passport was completely gone. I couldn’t board. I had to go back to the model accommodations, furious and frustrated. Three days later, I finally found my passport, and the exact second I picked it up, my phone rang. It was the casting director. She said, “You got the job. You start in a few days.” That lost passport was destiny stepping in. From jump street, it drastically changed my life. My fashion agents in Europe were furious at first, but once The Adventures of Sinbad became a global smash hit, everybody won. It was a completely different world, and I’m incredibly grateful for the ups, the downs, and exactly where that missing passport led me.

“Wouldn’t you rather be that guy who can act until he’s old and grey, and be respected for his craft?” One question from one casting director. Sometimes the safe road looks like the smart choice, until someone asks the question that makes you see further. And sometimes a lost passport is not bad luck at all. Sometimes we are so blinded by what we are doing that we do not look further ahead, and we miss important details.

Sometimes in April

“That film was the greatest reality check of my entire human existence.”

Sometimes in April is about the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda. What did that role ask of you, and what did it leave with you?

That film was the greatest reality check of my entire human existence. It pushed me as an actor completely beyond my comfort zone, demanding an emotional depth I didn’t even know I possessed, but it cost me a piece of myself. It hit me so hard that I actually stopped working for a while after we wrapped; I simply couldn’t just jump into another gig. We shot the film on location in Rwanda, and the reality was right in our faces every single day. The background actors and the local crew were people who had actually witnessed the atrocities. They shared their raw, heartbreaking stories with us daily.

It humbled me in ways beyond measure and permanently reshaped who I am as a brother, a father, a husband, and a man. Just imagine: over one million people slaughtered with machetes in a single month, while the world willfully turned a blind eye because there was no oil, no wealth, and nothing the West deemed worth intervening for. It breaks my heart because, unfortunately, humanity never learns. We see the exact same patterns of war and indifference happening in different regions today, broadcast live on social media, turning horror into a daily norm.

Artistically, that film became the highest degree I have ever earned as an actor. To this day, real casting directors and top producers around the world look at my work in Sometimes in April and will simply offer me a role without ever asking for an audition. It gave me the ultimate professional respect. But the greatest thing it left me with is a profound awe for the resilience of the human spirit. Today, Rwanda is one of the most peaceful, beautiful, and safest countries in Africa. Let that sink in for a moment. It is a testament to true healing, and I always tell people: if you go to Africa, visit Rwanda,and don’t just go to see the gorillas in the mountains, go to feel the soul of a people who chose peace over hate.

Hand on heart, when I read this part I found it hard to find peace, and hard to keep reading. What Oris describes, the slaughter of one million people, is one part. I want to be brutally honest with you and also lift the rapes of more than 100,000 women. If you do not believe the numbers, search for it online. Despite all of this, Oris describes the country today as one of the most peaceful in Africa.

What I also want to mention here is what gives me incredible respect for the acting profession. When actors step into a role, their job is to embrace the character’s pain, feel it, live it and walk with it, dig deep and take on another person’s personality for a long period of time. Hand on heart, I do not think I could have stepped into a character like the ones in these films without, in one way or another, being a little broken as a person. Physical strength can be trained, and you get sore muscles, but the mental side is much harder. Let me give you something to think about. You step into your work character every day at your job, and even that can be hard to let go of when you come home after a tough day. Now imagine that for months you have to trade your personality and your emotions for someone else’s. That is a brutal reality in a film with emotions like this one.

Tsui Hark, Raoul Peck and Africa

You have worked with directors like Tsui Hark and Raoul Peck. What did they teach you as an actor?

Wow, you are talking about two completely different beasts and two entirely different universes of filmmaking. To work with them was like earning degrees from two different world-class universities, and you have no choice but to grow when you are in the presence of men like that.

Tsui Hark is one of the absolute godfathers of Chinese martial arts cinema, masterfully switching from classic historical epics to modern-day action. As a martial arts buff myself, having the privilege to work under him—and alongside Yuen Woo-ping, arguably the greatest action director on the planet,was incredibly refreshing. Yuen Woo-ping is the man who trained and raised nearly every major action star out of Hong Kong, to the point where Hollywood had to follow their blueprint for films like The Matrix. Working with them was like earning a master’s degree in executing action on camera. It completely sharpened my skills in the genre. But beyond the stunts, I was blessed to genuinely bond with Tsui Hark. Every break we had, we’d sit together, smoking cigars as if we were in a private lounge, just talking about life and film. It is an experience I will never forget.

As for Raoul Peck, he is a whole other powerhouse. I have been blessed to work with him three times now, and he is far more than just a filmmaker,he is an absolute educator in the world of global Black and African politics. Working with Raoul isn’t just about acting; he makes you feel like a student again. He demands intellectual depth, rigorous truth, and an understanding of history.

Between Tsui Hark and Raoul Peck, they left me with a whole spectrum of education for life. One taught me the poetry of physical motion and action, while the other taught me the weight of political truth and storytelling. They made me the complete actor I am today

You have also made films in West Africa, like Road to Yesterday and The Cursed Ones. What did it mean to you to bring your work back to Africa?

It meant absolutely everything to me; it was the ultimate full-circle moment and the icing on the cake of my entire career. When I went back to star in Road to Yesterday, I hadn’t set foot in Nigeria in almost 27 years. I was blessed to be cast by one of Nigeria’s biggest superstars, Genevieve Nnaji, for her landmark production. The movie went on to close AFRIFF (the African International Film Festival), one of the biggest film festivals on the continent. Even more historic, it became one of the foundational African films that opened the doors on Netflix, paving the way for the massive wave of African cinema you see on the platform today. It was surreal to see people from completely different global cultures being moved by a story from that region on a global stage. Returning as a man to the very country where my childhood had fractured was a healing experience I never expected.

That foundational bridge even led to one of my latest major projects shot right in Lagos, Nigeria—a hit film called A Sunday Affair. Working on that project made me realize that this journey has truly been a gift that keeps on giving, and I am so thankful to Netflix for helping to showcase our stories worldwide.

Then, moving on to The Cursed Ones in Ghana, I experienced a completely different kind of blessing. Ghana is home to some of my most passionate fans, and the director happened to be a young man who grew up watching me on my very first TV show, The Adventures of Sinbad. From the moment my feet touched the ground in Ghana, generations of people from all walks of life flooded me with love, telling me how that show shaped their lives. To realize that a project I shot decades ago across the world had left such an indelible mark on the continent was deeply moving. Bringing my work back to Africa wasn’t just a professional milestone; it was destiny bringing me home.

Of all your roles, from HBO and Netflix to Redcon-1 and Highlander: Endgame, which one changed you the most as a person?

I have to be completely honest and say that’s almost an unfair question! Each one of these movies, much like the different chapters of my own life, has had a deep and lasting impact on me. The intense process I go through as an actor to bring a character to life requires me to dig incredibly deep into the hidden corners of my own soul. I have to pull from my own history to tell these stories as authentically as possible, so a piece of every character stays with me.

But the one that fundamentally changed me on the deepest level has to be the HBO film Sometimes in April. The way I had to stretch myself for that role was a process no one could ever teach you in a drama school. I had to go to places beyond history and come face-to-face with locals who had watched their loved ones get slaughtered in front of them—and in many horrific cases, people who were forced to do it themselves. Let that sink in for a moment. Dealing with a raw, true tragedy of that scale meant I had a sacred obligation as both an actor and a human being to come absolutely correct. I had to bring my ‘A-game’ come hell or high water.

That experience triggered something deep inside me because I grew up as a kid in Nigeria during an era of military regimes, witnessing one coup d’état after another. I knew firsthand how the tides of life could violently shift right in front of your eyes at the drop of a dime. It made it clear that war, life, and this world are completely unpredictable. If you don’t believe in anything, an experience like Sometimes in April forces you to start believing in God—to remember that He created us in His likeness and image. Once you understand that concept, you realize that just being alive from one minute to the next means you have the power to turn things around at a drop of a dime, for better or for worse. The profound weight of that film haunts me to this day, and it permanently reshaped the man I am.

Do you feel there is something people can do after Rwanda and war? Not governments or organisations, but ordinary people.

With Sometimes in April, I believe the responsibility is to keep that history alive. Ordinary people can help by learning, listening to survivors, challenging hatred and teaching our children that another person’s suffering matters, wherever they come from. I appreciate your care in approaching this subject.

Leaving Hollywood behind

In 2008 you left Los Angeles and went back to London. Why?

Leaving Los Angeles in 2008 was a massive leap of faith, but it was easily the best move I ever made for my career. Several factors aligned at that time. People I trusted deeply encouraged me that if I truly wanted to star as a leading man, to carry a film regardless of the budget, and to step into absolute creative control, I needed to break out of the traditional Hollywood system. I needed to block out all the industry noise and emotional distractions. I wanted to grow beyond just entertainment, and to do that, I had to look outside the system. After all, I am British by birth and of Nigerian origin. As much as I love America,a country that gave me everything I stand on to this day,I needed to step away to fully leverage the incredible, bittersweet life experiences I had accumulated as a human being.

It was a terrifying mindset to adopt back then, and packing up was incredibly difficult. But I saw something shifting on the horizon. The streaming revolution was just starting to rise. Platforms like Netflix were beginning to give brilliant directors, writers, and diverse talents from all over the world a chance to win right where they stood. By relocating back to London, I positioned myself right in the heart of Europe, with easy, direct transit to West Africa.

What made this move even more interesting was a phenomenon I still can’t fully explain: the endless offers and collaborations that kept coming my way purely because of Sometimes in April. To this day, that HBO film has been the gift that keeps on giving. While so many actors in the Hollywood system are stuck endlessly auditioning, for me, thank God, it became a golden ticket. Producers and directors see that movie and they don’t ask me to read,they just ask, “How much? What is your fee? We love your work.” They could honestly care less about the endless other projects I’ve broken my back to be a part of; that one film answers all their questions.

Raoul Peck himself was one of the many who encouraged me to take this path outside the machine, and he certainly wasn’t kidding me. I still get goosebumps looking back at a private moment we shared on set. The door was closed, away from the casting directors and producers, and Raoul looked at me and said, “Oris, forget the money they are paying you and the fame that will come from undertaking this role. Just give it everything from your heart. Be honest in all your delivery, and the things you will go on to attain will go beyond anything you have ever imagined.”

He was absolutely right. Making that leap allowed me to dive headfirst into the exploding creative worlds of Ghana, Nigeria, and Senegal without being trapped in a traditional Hollywood queue. If I was going to enjoy this industry until a ripe old age, I had to transition into the producer, writer, film company owner, and creative advisor that I am today. It was a scary move in 2008, but since the day I stepped off that plane back in London, my life and my business have only gotten better.

Life behind the screen

When filming is over, how do you leave a character and come back to yourself? Has it ever been hard?

To be completely honest, it can be incredibly hard. Depending on the role, the process to let go takes a massive physical and mental toll, and it takes time. When I take on a heavy character, it becomes very difficult to balance that weight with my real life as a husband and a father. I need to be fully present with my family and my friends, which requires an immense amount of constant switching on and off. Once in a while, the character slips out at home, and I have to step back and apologize. Because of that pressure, nighttime has always been my sacred moment. Once the family is off to bed, I shut off the world, grab a cigar, and go to work debriefing my mind.

For me, the ultimate spiritual bridge back to myself is prayer. I give praise and thanks to God for that quiet, solitary time where I can just let everything out. Sometimes that means a lot of crying, just releasing the heavy emotional weight that a character leaves behind in my soul.

Alongside prayer, my ultimate sanctuary has always been the cigar community, which I’ve been a part of since 1994, right around the time I finally decided that acting was my true calling. Over the decades, I have been very fortunate to find a home in quiet, hidden cigar institutions and parlors around the world. That community is filled with incredibly wise, trusting, older women and gentlemen from all walks of life who have provided me with an unmatched network of support.

In fact, for the record, that world is where I was introduced to my wife, the mother of my many beautiful kids today. It all started through a trusted friend in the cigar community who traveled to Cuba every single year just to smoke, reset, and turn off the noise of the rest of the world. It was through him that I was first tapped into that profound energy of solace, joining him on those annual trips to Cuba to rest my heart, mind, and soul.

Today, that lifestyle has become a beautiful family tradition. My wife now makes sure our holidays are planned around incredible cigar regions like the Dominican Republic and other areas. It has evolved into a sanctuary where my wife, the kids, and I can all truly get lost together and enjoy life as a family. At any given moment, diving into my collection is my creative process. When I am embarking on a new project or building a new character, you would be amazed at what a good leaf and a solitary smoke in the middle of the night can produce. It is how I clear the noise and prepare to undertake everything to the absolute best of my ability.

After a heavy role, what does the cigar give you that nothing else can?

Oris Erhuero taken by Torunn Lillo

The cigar gives me a moment to be still and reflect after demanding work. The friendships around that culture matter just as much.

For Oris, the cigar is so much more than tobacco. It is his way back to himself after a heavy role, his quiet moment at night when the family is asleep, the community that has supported him since 1994, and even the world where he met his wife. That is exactly what makes cigar culture unique. It does not care if you are rich or poor, white or black, Muslim or Christian. In that moment, all the norms are wiped away, and the true value of a person comes through. And as Oris describes, the cigar can also be a quiet friend in the middle of the night. Those cigars when I sit alone in my own solitude are some of the most valuable ones I have. It becomes a form of meditation, a moment where I can reset myself and let my thoughts settle.

What is the hardest part of an actor’s life, the part the audience never sees? The waiting, the rejections, not knowing when the next role comes?

When you stop desperately chasing it, things just come.

The older I get, the more beautiful it feels to look at how the industry has completely flipped. In this new era, everything has changed—the more people recognize you, the merrier. Now, every athlete and every actor wants to model, shoot commercials, and cross over into fashion. My generation paved the way for that. How I personally managed to survive it, break through that rigid glass ceiling, and transition smoothly from television to film and back again, only God knows. But I am so glad the world finally sees it the way I do: it is about building yourself as a brand, creating a name and an accumulation of experience that money simply cannot buy.

Ultimately, everything happened for a reason. Because of this journey, I have become an institution within myself. I am incredibly grateful for every single trial, because this rich blueprint means my children will never have to stray far to find direction. They can take from my life experiences and apply them to whatever avenue they choose. I’ve seen this industry destroy marriages, relationships, and drive people down very dark roads. Once you get that role, it is truly the greatest feeling on earth when the contract is signed and the money hits your bank account. But until then, nothing is safe—which is exactly why you have to build a brand that belongs entirely to you.

And what are the moments that make it all worth it?

The moments that make it all worth it come when you stop, look back every now and again, and are hit with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I look at where I stand today, and I am profoundly grateful that I never gave up. But more than that, I am actually grateful for all the hell I had to go through. I am glad I went through it, because every ounce of that fire shaped the man, the father, the husband, and the artist I am today. When you realize that the pain wasn’t wasted—that it was all just fuel for your destiny—that is the moment it all becomes worth it.

I know, I know, one more comment. But listen to what Oris just said, because this is probably one of the most important parts of this section. Even though Oris has gone through a lot of pain in his life, he is grateful for it when he looks back. It shaped him into the man he is today. What I want you to take with you is this. Every hell you go through, and every hell you have been through, gives you lessons for life. You might not realise it now, but if you do not let them stand in the way of your future, they can become part of your strength.

Oris, thank you.
When I reached out to you on Instagram, I hoped for an interview. What I got was a story I will carry with me for a long time. Thank you for the honesty, and for trusting me with it.
Some parts were not easy to read, especially Rwanda. Others felt written for everyone who has ever been told their dream is too big.
Follow your dreams. Be grateful for the hard roads too. They are the ones that shape you.
Thank you.
— Peter Stefanic, VDG Cigars

In Focus

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